by The Dreamer
A concept: a lonely driftwood. How many miles have the waves carried it? How many miles will it keep riding the ebb and flow? It tries to reach out for something to hold, but it is a driftwood, it has no hands, it has no fingers, it cannot hold. Maybe it should just sink. Can’t do that either. It’s a driftwood, it’s too light. How many miles more? How many islands has it circled around, so close to its coasts but always too far away. Can’t see the end, can’t see the end of that horizon, there’s too much blue that turns to black. There’s too much sun beating down on it, too much torrential rain, too much goddamn water, it just wants to stop moving, stop drifting, is that too much to ask for?
To surrender to what will be and what is fated to be is such a frightening thought. Should I embrace this? Should I reject this? I don’t know. I don’t know. The most scary thing is seeing yourself drift away from people you hold so dearly to your heart, and you don’t know how to reel yourself back in. The second most scariest thing is watching the light in people’s eyes flicker out, watch them lose interest in you, watch the blue turn to black, turn to resentment and you start to see, in its murkiness and its inky mass, a reflection of all the flaws that they have seen in you.
You can’t control what people think of you. This is simultaneously daunting but also relieving. But what you can control is your own emotions, your own reactions, your own behaviour and actions.
When I’m in my driftwood state, a term I coined for days when my heart is caught in uncontrollable raging waves and I feel desperately helpless, I hold onto my doll tight and tell myself you can’t control what others think of you, but you can control yourself. You can be a better person, a better person than before, and let the other person decide if they want to change their opinion of you. And if they don’t, then it’s their own choice, and it is not up to you to force them to.
I let myself believe that my doll tells me all these, because it is much more convincing than when I’m trying to project it on myself, and it works.
At the same time, I remind myself of all my blessings. But that is another post for another time; it’s coming soon.
A concept: A driftwood, braving through the waves and never sinking. A hand reaches out to it and it feels so good to be held. The person is holding onto her dear life, and the driftwood does not allow it to sink. It floats, she floats, they will not sink.